An Abomination
by Booo008
Summary: please do not read this im begging you
1. Chapter 1

OKAY STOP RIGHT THERE- before you read any more please note that this entire fanfic is an inside joke between my friends on DrawCast and I.

Here's the gist of it: Chica is a human and she, Vincent, Jeremy and Mike work at McDick's (don't even ask).

I doodled a Vincent/Phone guy thing, one thing led to another and now I'm writing this.

This fanfic is not meant to be taken seriously. It is purely for fun.

Read on at your own peril.

It was a slow night at McDick's. Chica glopped yet another spoonful of whatever they're feeding their customers onto a bun, put some most likely rotten cheese on it and topped it off with another bun. The bun had a bite out of it, but she didn't care. The customer wouldn't notice.

She handed the burger to the customer, took his money and put it in the register. At first, she was confused as to why he was still standing there. _Oh yeah, change_. She grabbed a couple quarters and a dollar bill out of the register and pretended to count it. But whatever, he wouldn't notice.

When he left, Chica sighed and rested her head in the palm of her hand. She hated it here. But her only other option to make money was—well, you know. It was either that, fast food or selling illegal drugs on the street. She chose fast food only because she didn't know how to obtain illegal drugs.

Jeremy walked over to take his shift as the cashier. He smiled at her politely as she moved out of the way. Chica blinked. He was just so... I don't know. Something about him just made Chica stare. Not in the stalkerish way, though. In the "in love" way. Well, sort of in the stalkerish way. Yeah. It was stalkerish. "Uh, Chica?" Jeremy asked after what seemed like a millennium of staring.

"Huh?" She pretended she had no idea what happened.

"Are you okay?" Jeremy looked genuinely concerned about Chica's mental health.

"Uh... Yeah. Fine." _Damn it, pretending it didn't happen just made it worse. Maybe if I just walk away and don't say anything he'll forget about this_. So, Chica proceeded to walk away, leaving Jeremy staring after her confusedly. He shrugged and took the order of the customer who had been waiting for a full five minutes.

Chica walked to the back of the restaurant. Finally, her shift was over. She had maybe thirty seconds of free time. A minute if the customer couldn't decide what to eat. She wanted to cherish every second.

She snuck off to the very back and opened the door to the janitor's closet. Quietly, she slipped in and closed the door, then turned on the light. She reached behind a mop bucket to take out her secret stash of pizza. She had at least three boxes, and had eaten two and a half so far. She was basically addicted. No matter how much she ate, it wasn't enough. Kind of like meth. But with cheese.

She hadn't even opened the box when she heard a knock on the door. Grumbling to herself, she put the box back behind the bucket and opened the door. Unsurprisingly, Vincent greeted her.

"What is it with you and pizza? It's weird."

Chica glared at him. He knew all about her pizza addiction, and has used it to blackmail her numerous times. "Screw you, Vin. You're as addicted to making out with a phone as I am to eating pizza."

Vincent's purple skin turned bright red, half from embarrassment, half from fury. "Shut up! PG's different."

Before the two could argue any longer, Mike walked up to them and handed Chica a slip of paper that read "number two with extra mayonnaise". Chica sighed. They _always _want extra mayonnaise.

She walked off to the kitchen to prepare more stuff that probably isn't even meat for the customer, leaving Vincent and Mike behind. Mike turned to Vincent.

"There's a customer who wants to see you personally."

Vincent's eyes grew wide. "They aren't a cop, are they?"

Mike rolled his eyes. "No, Vincent, it's not the police. Just follow me."

He and Mike went around the front counter and into the dining section of what barely could be called a "restaurant". Waiting for them was a familiar face. Er... phone.

"PG!" Vincent gasped. "Why are you here? You don't even have a mouth!"

PG rubbed his arm awkwardly. "O-oh, yeah. I forgot." He obviously had just come here to see Vincent. He couldn't even pretend to be here to eat.

Mike left them alone, PG standing there awkwardly and staring at the floor with his non-existent eyes. Vincent only just then realized he was on break.

"Hey, uh... can we... talk somewhere?" PG asked shyly. Vincent swallowed hard. This sequence of events was quickly turning into a porno plot.

"Ah.. Sure?" Vincent led PG to the staff bathroom. He would have picked the janitor's closet, but it was too cramped. And it reeked of pizza.

Once they entered, PG closed the door and locked it. A little too quickly. Yes, this was definitely starting to feel like a porno plot.

PG leapt into Vincent's arms, and he could tell he would be smothering him with kisses if he were capable of doing so.

Yes. This was most definitely a porno plot.

The force of the impact caused the two to fall onto the floor, PG on top of Vincent.

Then shit happened. The author had attempted to write a sex scene here, but had failed miserably and deleted all of it. Xe also didn't give much of a fuck that xe was breaking the fourth wall by blatantly telling xyr readers that xe gave up writing the sex scene, because damn it, writing sex scenes is hard. No pun intended. No, scratch that, pun entirely intended.

So basically the only plot you missed was Vincent giving PG a BJ, and PG was all shy and unsure about it because he's a total uke. So let's just pretend the author actually wrote it. Because technically xe did. Xe just deleted it all.

So, without further ado, let's continue the story, starting off again from when the author decided to stop selecting paragraphs for deletion.

Upon hearing footsteps approaching the bathroom, PG quickly put his underwear and pants back on, zipping the fly and buckling the belt.

Before whoever was coming had a chance to knock, Vincent unlocked and opened the door.

"What are you two doing in here?" Chica asked confusedly. Her eyes trailed down to the bit of stuff still dripping down Vincent's face. _Whoops, I forgot to wipe it off_.

"Uh... Somebody spilled mayonnaise," Vincent replied.

"And you cleaned it up by licking it?" Chica raised an eyebrow.

"Uh, yeah." Vincent blinked.

Chica shook her head. "And you think _I'm_ gross." She turned to walk away, but then she turned back to face Vincent. "By the way, it's your turn to work the register."

She left them, and Vincent turned to PG, shrugging. "Duty calls. Gotta sell some burgers."

"Heh, have fun," PG said.

Vincent smiled in a vain attempt to be smooth. "I'll try." As he turned the corner he knocked over a rack of condiments, and ketchup bottles fell all over the floor. When the rack fell, the ketchup shot everywhere, getting on all the walls and cooking materials. It looked like somebody was slaughtered. "...Shit."

PG stifled a laugh by coughing. _Yeah, real smooth_. Vincent grumbled curses to himself and got up. "I guess I'll have to clean this up now..."

"Don't worry, I'll cover your shift at the cash register," PG offered.

Vincent blinked. "But you don't work here."

PG shrugged. "The customers won't notice."

Vincent smiled. PG walked away, trying his best not to get ketchup all over his shoes and pants, while Vincent starting grabbing a shitload of paper towels to clean up the mess he so clumsily created.

But whatever. Today was a nice surprise.


	2. Chapter 2

An Abomination 2: the Abomination Crossover

with another abomination

-drum roll-

Family Guy

(jk I love family guy but just roll with it)

(And yes, I'm serious. A crossover with Family Guy because I've run out of fucks to give.)

It was the summer of 1988. Vincent, your average deadbeat fast-food employee, was in jail. He was accused of first-degree murder, suspected of killing 5 children. Vincent, however, had pleaded innocent, claiming not to have had anything to do with the murders. But the forensic evidence and security footage proved him wrong.

Now Vincent sat, alone, in a cold cell. After the end of his 80-year sentence, he would be executed in the electric chair. But even as he sat in the dark, with nothing but his thoughts and the steady, distant drip of tap water, Vincent knew that he was innocent.

On the night of the murders, he had been finishing up work at McDick's. First by cleaning the counters, then the bathrooms. The disgusting, revolting, somehow _always _dirty bathrooms. He had stood in the doorway with a mop in hand, staring at the mess before him and taking in a deep breath. Then he stepped inside.

The public restrooms were much, _much_ worse than the employee-only one. Their scent was indescribable. Vincent screwed up his face as he dipped his mop in the soapy water and began to wipe the floor clean.

His heart began to beat faster. His lungs were begging for air, and he desperately wanted to breathe in, but he knew exactly how that would work out, seeing as he got easily nauseous.

_Remember your training, Vincent. You can do this. You didn't take three years' worth of swimming lessons in middle school to give up now_. He continued to hold his breath as he mopped the floor.

After the floor was clean, Vincent rushed out of the room. In his haste, Vincent had completely forgotten that he _just_ mopped the floors, and he slipped. He fell, his chin hitting the ground with a painful _thump_. Without thinking, Vincent sucked in a huge breath and opened his eyes, panting.

As the world came back into focus, he realized he was just barely outside of the men's room. _Good. I'm breathing clean air, then._

An impatient, tapping foot made him look up. He was greeted by the annoyed face of Chica, who had recently been appointed manager of McDick's.

"O-oh, uh... hey, Chica. I was just—"

"Not doing your job, is what." Chica sounded very impatient. Ever since she had been appointed manager she'd been acting like the big kahuna, which sort of pissed Vincent off. She used to be pretty cool—his best friend, even. But now she was just _bossy_.

Vincent stood up, his entire front side soaking wet with soapy floor water. _Disgusting_.

"Now clean the toilets," Chica told him, crossing her arms.

Vincent gulped. "T-the _toilets_? But I thought that was Jere—"

"Jeremy is sick today, Vincent." Chica narrowed her eyes crossly. "Which means it's your job now."

Vincent stared at her for a moment, biting back a retort, and turned around and marched back into the men's room. _When the hell did Chica become such an asshole? _

She's just been acting so uncharacteristic. It must be this new manager position; the power was getting to her.

Vincent entered the first stall, and dared to look down.

Toilet paper littered the floor. And not all of it was clean. There were suspicious looking stains on the wall, the words "_Brian Rulez_" in really sloppy handwriting and with three exclamation marks. Classy.

And then there was the toilet.

The gurgling, bubbling, evil-looking "_water_" was greenish-brown and murky, with soaked pieces of toilet paper floating about with turds that looked like whoever made them had eaten nothing but moldy cheese and expired meat for a week straight.

Vincent felt like throwing up.

He sprinted out of the stall, gliding over the slippery floor but not falling this time. He crashed into Chica and, ignoring her angered yelling, ran at top speed for the employee's restroom.

He flipped up the toilet seat and hurled.

Afterwards, he propped himself up against the wall, his head spinning. He felt weak, his stomach was empty, and he felt as if he couldn't move his legs.

Once he regained control of his muscles, Vincent stood up and washed out his mouth. _How does Jeremy do that stuff every day?_

Vincent stumbled out of the bathroom, using nearby counters and racks for support as he made his way to the front door. His shift was finally over. As he reached for his car keys, he was stopped in his tracks by a fuming Chica. In the dim lighting, she looked quite scary.

"Vincent." Her voice was quiet, but full of silent rage. The most terrifying kind. "My office. Now."

In Chica's office, Vincent stared down at his hands, which were in his lap. He listened to the tick of the clock, the gentle whirring of the fan, and the flickering of the overhead lights. The tension between him and Chica crackled like lightning.

"Vincent, you haven't been focused lately."

Vincent looked up at her. She didn't at all look like the Chica he knew and cared about, and she sure didn't act like her, either. And with PG on vacation with his family, Jeremy out sick, and Mike having mysteriously disappeared three weeks ago, Vincent had no one.

Chica sighed. "Listen, Vincent. You're a very... _loyal_ worker, but... you just aren't living up to the company's expectations."

_Well, you're sure living up to the name_, Vincent wanted to say. _You're acting like a huge McDick_.

But he held his tongue.

"I'm sorry I have to do this, but I think we could do better than you. Maybe you should look for work elsewhere."

Vincent stared at her. "Are you _firing _me?"

Chica didn't answer.

Vincent stood up abruptly, stomping out of Chica's office, steaming. He grabbed his keys and left, slamming the front door behind him. Making his was over to the parking lot, trying to locate his car in the dark of night, he noticed a tow truck. Then, with horror, he realized it was towing _his_ car.

"No, wait—!" Vincent called desperately, running after the truck. But he was too late. It pulled out of the parking lot, pulling his car along with it.

Now Vincent stood in the middle of the empty parking lot, without a job, without a car, without friends. He hung his head and began to walk home.

After forty-five long minutes of walking, Vincent climbed the stairs of his apartment complex and turned the key to unlock the door. He went inside and crashed on the couch, sighing loudly and closing his eyes.

Then, just as he was starting to drift into sleep, he heard the muffled voices coming from outside.

"There—he went in there!" He heard footsteps, approaching quickly, shortly followed by loud knocking on his door. "Open up! This is the police!"

Vincent groaned, rubbing his eyes before sitting up. Before he even got the chance to stand, his door was busted open, and multiple flashlight beams were focused on him, making him squint against the blinding light.

He stumbled backwards, startled, and fell over on his back onto the couch. "Freeze!" one officer yelled. Vincent could hardly see through the bright light, but he heard a click, so he guessed the officer was pointing a gun at him.

"Put your hands in the air!" the same officer yelled. Vincent complied, startled and very confused.

Another officer was quick to grab him by his shoulders and violently turn him around, so that his back was to them. "Hey! Not so—" he began to complain, but was interrupted.

"You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to have an attorney present during questioning. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you."

Vincent sighed. "I'm being arrested, aren't I?" he asked as the officer cuffed his hands.

"I said you have the right to remain _silent_," the officer replied. "But, yes. You are under arrest."

_**To be continued...**_

Don't worry. The Family Guy stuff is coming up. Just be patient. This is going to be a _lot _longer than the last Abomination.


	3. Chapter 3

An Abomination 2: the Abomination Crossover

part 2 of I have no idea how many there will be.

"Wake up, you psycho." Vincent jumped. He looked around, wondering confusedly why he wasn't in his bed, and was instead in the back of a car with his hands bound behind his back.

But then he remembered. He had been arrested. He must have fallen asleep during the ride.

As he got out of the car, he looked at the multiple police officers around him. They all either shot him hostile looks, or stared at him as if he killed someone.

Vincent had no idea what all this was about. Aside from parking in a handicap space—which he had already been punished for—he hadn't done anything. Well, he had stolen a couple packets of ketchup from McDick's a few days ago, but was it really _this_ big of a deal?

"Um, can I know why I'm being arrested, please?" Vincent asked the officer who was escorting him into the police station.

The officer gave him a disgusted look. "People like you make me _sick_."

Now Vincent was _really_ confused. "Look, do you think it's possible you've got the wrong guy? I didn't do anything."

"Tell that to the judge, pal." The officer pushed him into the holding cell and slammed it shut, locking it.

Vincent sighed louder than he needed to, and slumped against the cold wall.

There was a long period of silence. "Don't I have a right to an attorney?" Vincent finally asked. "And if I can't afford one, one will be appointed for me? That's what you said when you cuffed me."

"Yes," the officer answered flatly.

Another silence. No sound but the humming of the fluorescent lights, nobody in the room but Vincent and the officer. The keys were attached to the officers belt. For a moment Vincent considered trying that thing they do in movies where they wait for the officer to fall asleep, and then grab a pole or something and get the keys.

But there weren't any random poles just laying around. And Vincent was pretty sure the officer wasn't going to fall asleep any time soon.

Then, at last, somebody entered the room.

"They're ready," she said quietly. The officer nodded and reached for his keys, unlocking Vincent's cell and, yet again, escorting him down the hall.

He left Vincent in another room. This one had no cell; the officer left the room and closed the door. There was only one other person in the room, and there was nothing but a table and a chair on each side.

"Have a seat," the other man told him calmly. And then Vincent knew. This was an _interrogation_.

Vincent sat down, and the man adjusted his glasses and straightened his papers. "What's your name?" he asked.

"Vincent," he replied.

The man nodded. "Mr. Vincent, where were you tonight?"

"At work," Vincent replied.

"Oh? And where do you work?"

"Ever heard of McDick's?" Vincent asked. When the man looked confused and slightly offended, Vincent sighed. "It's a local fast-food joint. We don't get a lot of business, usually."

The man nodded slowly, writing something down on his paper. "Is that your... um... McDick's uniform?"

"Yeah... But I don't really work there any more."

The man blinked. "Why not?"

Vincent leaned back in his chair and looked at the ceiling. "I got fired by someone I thought was my friend."

The man looked awkward for a moment, then cleared his throat. "Tell me, Mr. Vincent, what's that on your shirt?"

"Hm?" Vincent looked down. Sure enough, there was a stain on his shirt. He smelled it, and made a face. "Ah. I threw up earlier."

"...Okay. Why is that?"

"I had to clean those damn bathrooms," Vin grumbled. "They're awful."

"How is it that you don't get a lot of business, and yet the bathrooms are dirty?" The man leaned forward.

Vincent shrugged. "No idea."

The man nodded, writing something down on his paper. He then pulled out a piece of paper with five pictures on it. "Mr. Vincent, have you ever seen these children?"

Vincent took the paper from the man's hands and studied the pictures. Two girls, three boys. Elementary school age. None of which were familiar. "Nope." He handed the paper back to the man.

The man narrowed his eyes. "I see."

He wrote something else down on his paper, then looked Vincent in the eye.

"Vincent, would you be willing to take a polygraph exam?"

Vincent sat by himself in a room, listening to the excited voices outside.

"I don't get it," one voice said. "He passed the polygraph. We tested the stain on his shirt, and there's no sign of blood. But the man in the footage is definitely him. I mean, how many purple men can there be?"

"Plus, he has an alibi," another voice chimed in. Vincent figured it must me the man who had interrogated him.

"Yes, but can he confirm it?" a new voice questioned.

"I guess there's only one way to be sure," a woman's voice said. "We need more evidence. Officer Davids, do you still have the murder weapon?"

"I do," another voice said. It sounded like the first person that had spoken.

"We need to analyze the fingerprints, and compare them to Vincent's."

His interrogator spoke up again. "But, his alibi..? We should search for this 'McDick's' place. We'll need to find the security footage."

"We don't have security cameras," Vincent yelled at the door. "Budget cuts."

The voices were silent for a moment. "Fingerprints it is," the woman decided. "And see if you can find any other DNA at the scene. Blood, hair, anything. Oh, and, Roger," she began as two sets of footsteps started away down the hall, "You can work on confirming this alibi of yours."

"Will do," his interrogator said. Then the two left.

"Hey!" Vincent called. "Forget something?"

"Alright, Mr. Vincent, let's begin with your alibi." Vincent was sitting at home, talking with a blonde-haired woman. She was going to be his attorney for this case.

"Well, I was working at—"

"Yes, I know where you were working," she interrupted. "But we need someone to confirm that you were there, seeing as you have no security footage. Was anyone else in the building with you?"

"Well, my frien—er, _boss_ was there."

"Great," she said. "We'll head over right now."

"Well, uh..." Vincent began awkwardly. "We're not exactly on good terms at the moment."

His attorney looked him directly in the eye, her expression dead serious and a little intimidating. "Mr. Vincent, all of the evidence right now points to you, and your only alibi is sketchy. You work at a place no one's heard of, with no security cameras, no specific address, and little to no business. The only way you're ever going to get out of this is if you speak with your boss to prove that you were there. Are we clear, Mr. Vincent?"

"Ah.. Y-yes, we're clear." Vincent blinked. Man, this lady was _serious._

"Alright," she said, standing. "Let's get going."

"Wait!" Vincent called. She stopped in her tracks.

"Yes, Mr. Vincent?" She sounded exasperated.

"I still don't know what I'm being accused of."

The woman sighed, and turned towards him. "Murder."

Vincent froze in shock. "_Murder_? Is it those kids? They think I _killed_ them?"

"Yes." She turned back toward the door. "Now are we leaving, or aren't we?"

**_To be continued..._**

So, this was the boring chapter. But hey, every story needs one. And yes, I know, no family guy crossover yet. Don't worry, it's coming. Remember— this is all technically the past, leading up to the point I described in the first paragraph. The crossover doesn't come in until _after_ that.

So stay tuned.


	4. Chapter 4

An Abomination 2: the Abomination Crossover

part 3 of I still have no idea how many there will be.

It was the day of the court case.

Vincent didn't exactly have any nice clothes of his own, so he had to come in a rented tuxedo that smelled of mustard and failed marriage.

So, Vincent was sitting down on the defendant's side, waiting for the hearing to begin. The author doesn't really know how court cases work; their only knowledge of them comes from Judge Judy and Forensic Files. So they'll most likely be making up most of this stuff.

On the plaintiff's side were the police officers. A few faces were familiar, others were not. Among them, Vincent noticed his interrogator. He wondered if he'd ever finished his investigation on Vincent's alibi.

The sudden sound of a hammer got Vincent's attention.

"Alright, let the trial begin. First, we will hear from the plaintiff's side."

"Thank you, your honor." A woman stood. She was tall, with brown, greying hair tied in a ponytail. Vincent recognized her voice as the lady who was speaking outside the interrogation room a few nights back.

"I would like to begin by presenting the evidence we have." As she spoke, a nearby police officer handed the judge a plastic bag with something marked on it.

The judge narrowed his eyes. "What's this? Hair?"

"Yes, your honor," the lady spoke again. Vincent guessed she was the chief of police. "It was found at the crime scene. Not only is it purple, which happens to be the same color as this gentleman's hair," she motioned toward Vincent, "we compared the DNA with his, and it's a match. There is no doubt this hair belongs to Mr. Vincent."

Another officer handed the judge some papers, which appeared to be the proof that the hair was, indeed, Vincent's.

Now, the author isn't sure if the plaintiffs are supposed to go again since they got evidence, like in games where you get another turn after getting a point. But I'm just going to assume they take turns, even if that isn't the case. Ha, _case_! That was totally unintentional! Okay, I'll stop breaking the fourth wall now.

It was now the defendant's turn. Vincent's attorney stood, her blonde hair resting neatly on her shoulders. "Your honor, I would like to call a witness to the stand."

The judge nodded. "Go ahead."

"Ms. Chica?" his attorney cued. Chica, who was sitting with the other spectators, went up to her place in the stand. She looked reluctant to be there. But really, what other choice did she have?

"Ms. Chica," his attorney began, "you are Mr. Vincent's boss, correct?"

Chica nodded.

"Can you confirm that he was, in fact, at work on the night of the murders?"

"Yes," Chica said with a sigh. "That screwup practically ruined the whole building with his antics. I had no choice but to fire him."

Vincent couldn't believe what he was hearing. Such hate; such absolute _loathing_ behind her words. He could hardly believe that she was once his closest friend. He could tell she didn't even want to be helping him.

"No further questions." His attorney returned to her seat beside Vincent.

Although Vincent was glad to have Chica's help, he was still in shock. What had turned Chica against him? What did he ever do to her? They'd been friends since elementary school!

"Does the plaintiff have anything to say?" the judge asked.

"Yes." The chief stood up and handed the judge a bag, containing a large, stained knife.

"This is the murder weapon," she began. "We found fingerprints on it." She handed the judge pictures of the prints.

"And these—" she handed him more papers, "—are Mr. Vincent's fingerprints. They appear identical.

The judge compared the two pictures side-by-side. "Yes, it appears so." He handed the papers back. Vincent stared in astonishment. How is it that all of the evidence points to him, but he _knows_ he wasn't anywhere near the crime scene when the murders happened?

"Objection, your honor," his attorney said, standing up. "Those fingerprints are only partial. They might not belong to Vincent."

"Overruled," the judge said.

Vincent's attorney looked beat. She looked just about ready to give up. They had no more evidence proving that he was innocent.

"Your honor, we have one last bit of evidence." The chief took out a tape, and an officer rolled in an old-timey TV. She put the tape in and played it.

It was a security tape. It appeared to be located in some sort of pizzeria. A shadowy figure opened the door and entered, five kids following. The figure coaxed them all into the room and closed the door. He started to speak, and the children all sat down.

Then Vincent's stomach dropped as he recognized the figure as _himself_. A man, completely purple from head to toe, no apparent pupils, and a ponytail. He wore a security guard uniform that didn't look familiar. Then, to Vincent's horror, the man pulled out a knife.

The chief fast-forwarded. When she hit play again, all five kids were lying dead on the floor, blood pooling. A shocked gasp escaped from everyone in the room, and all eyes were fixed on Vincent. Everyone stared at him with such cold hatred that Vincent just wanted to cower in a corner.

There was no questioning the man in the tape was Vincent. But there was just one issue—Vincent was _positive _he didn't do it.

Everyone filed back into the courtroom. It was time for the jury to make their decision. Still, hostile glares were shot Vincent's way; everyone in the room seemed to want him dead.

One young man in the jury stood, holding papers. The courtroom got quiet.

"We, the jury, after examining the evidence and arguments of both parties..."

As he went on, all Vincent felt was dread. There was no possible way he would win this case. The only evidence he had to defend himself was his ex-manager who didn't even like him, claiming he was working in a restaurant with no security cameras and that nobody's ever heard it.

"...find Mr. Vincent guilty of first-degree murder, and sentence him to eighty years in prison, followed by execution."

Vincent thought he heard cheers, or clapping. He thought he saw people glad about his cruel fate. But he wasn't really paying attention—all he saw was Chica's face.

She had no reaction. She didn't care one bit that Vincent would be put in jail, and then killed. She looked casually down at her watch.

Vincent was heartbroken. His once best friend was now leaving him behind when he needed her most. Officers handcuffed him once more, and took him outside, leading him into a car to be taken away to jail.


	5. Chapter 5

An Abomination 2: the Abomination Crossover

part 4/TBD

And here we are, back where we began, in the cold, lonely jail cell that Vincent would call his home for 80 years.

He leaned against the cold wall, head bowed, eyes half closed. He was being punished cruelly for a crime he didn't commit. That distant leak dripped steadily, and Vincent was convinced it would be the only sound he'd be hearing for a long, long time.

In his lonely little world, Vincent let his mind wander. His first thought was of his boyfriend, Scott. Or, as he playfully called him, PG.

Vincent sighed. He hoped Scott was enjoying his vacation. Before he had left, Vincent remembered Scott complaining about his family and how much he disliked spending time with them. But Vincent sincerely hoped he'd enjoyed himself. That would at least make one of them.

Then his mind wandered to Jeremy "Jer-Bear" Fitzgerald. Poor kid was out sick. Probably because of the disgusting bathrooms he always had to clean. Vincent hoped he was feeling better by now.

And then Mike. The guy went missing all of a sudden; just disappeared right out of the blue. And on the same day Chica got promoted manager, too. One day he was cleaning the back hall, five minutes later he was gone—broom and all. They sent out a search party, but there was no trace of him whatsoever. Hopefully he'll be found soon.

Last of all, Chica. Vincent's former best friend, coworker and manager. He teared up a little at the thought of her suddenly turning on him. He wanted nothing more than for her to like him again. Even if he were to be stuck in this cold, dark, lonely cell until he rotted or starved, he would at least know that Chica still cared for him. But not even that much was true.

He curled up and shivered in the cold, closing his eyes and hoping sleep would come, trying to clear everything from his mind.

Eventually, after what felt like forever, he grew tired. He began to drift off into sleep, the world around him fading...

**_Zap!_**

Vincent's eyes snapped open and he whipped his head around to be greeted by a smoky, gaping hole in his cell wall, leading outside. Standing in the hole was a silhouette of—a... _baby_?

Vincent turned around again as the alarms sounded, and bright, flashing red lights flooded the room. He heard the distant shouting of police officers, and knew they were sprinting to where Vincent was.

"Come on, man! We don't have much time!" The voice came from behind him. It sounded like it belonged to a British man, but he couldn't see any other figure other than what appeared to be a baby. "Down here, you idiot! Now are you going to stand there all night, or follow me?"

With astonishment, Vincent realized the _baby_ was speaking. In the dim lighting, he could see the baby had an apparent football-shaped head, and was holding what appeared to be a laser gun.

"Oh, for god's sake! We need to leave _now_!" Footsteps were approaching quickly, and Vincent had only one choice. He had to follow the talking baby.

The two ran outside into the darkness right as the police officers emerged into Vincent's cell. "There! Follow him!"

The baby suddenly turned around and shot his laser gun at one of the officers, who grunted and fell over in a smoking heap. More officers emerged, and were closing in fast.

Vincent panicked. "W-what now?"

"Get into that car!" the baby ordered, zapping as many officers as he could with his gun. But they kept streaming out, and their numbers were getting greater by the minute.

"What car?!" Vincent yelled, freaking out. Just then, he heard a car horn, and out of nowhere a silver car crashed through the prison's gate, honking.

"Get in!" the driver yelled.

"Do as he says!" the baby screamed over all the noise and of the quickly approaching officers. By now searchlights were focused on them, and Vincent thought he heard a helicopter or two.

But Vincent had no time to think. He sprinted at top speed towards the silver car and hopped in the back seat, closely followed by the kid, who rode shotgun.

If this night weren't already weird enough, the car was being driven by a _dog_. A talking, white dog with a giant nose. As the baby slammed his door shut, the car sped away.

The sudden shatter of glass and the sound off bullets startled Vincent. They were being chased. The baby stuck his head out the window and aimed his gun at the cop car shooting at them. "Eat laser, jackass!"

The car swerved in every direction to avoid bullets, and Vincent was being knocked around in the backseat like mad.

The car took an abrupt turn into the woods. The ride was very bumpy, and all Vincent could see out of his window were branches and leaves.

Soon enough, the bumpiness was gone. In fact, all sound was gone, and all Vincent saw outside of his window was the night sky...

_Shit_.

"We're falling off a cliff!" Vincent screamed, terrified.

"Well, _duh_!" the baby said. "Now jump!"

Vincent stared, panic-stricken. "Are you _insane_?!"

"Just jump!" With that, the dog and the baby were already out of the car, and Vincent took a deep breath before opening his door and jumping.

Wind buffeted him from all sides, and the river below was approaching him quickly.

"Here!" It was the baby. Vincent could hardly hear him yell over the wind in his ears. "Take this!" The kid threw him something that looked like a backpack, and Vincent caught it. He quickly realized both the dog and the kid had one. They pulled a string, and suddenly they shot upwards. The bags were parachutes.

Vincent hurried to get his on, and his heart quickened as he looked down at the rushing water coming rapidly closer by the second.

After managing to get it on, he struggled to find the string that releases the parachute. At last, he found it. Vincent closed his eyes and pulled the string.

He opened his eyes. He was floating gently down to the riverbank, the dog and baby not far away. Vincent sighed in relief. He was _sure_ he was going to die.

The three landed and took off their parachutes. Vincent looked up at the moon. He saw a few, very distant helicopters fly by, no doubt searching for them. But there's no way they'd be found in these dense woods.

"Well, I'm pretty sure we lost them," the dog commented, brushing himself off.

Vincent heard small footsteps pattering up to him, and looked down to see the baby, his tiny arm outstretched. Vincent grasped it, surprised at the grip the little guy had.

"Stewie Griffin. The fellow over there is Brian. We've come to save your universe."


	6. Chapter 6

An Abomination 2: the Abomination Crossover

part 5/TBD

Vincent blinked. "My _what_?"

Stewie rolled his eyes. "Your universe. You know, your dimension? Your plane of existence? It's in serious danger, as is mine."

Vincent narrowed his eyes. "And why do you need me? What am I supposed to do about it?"

"It's simple, really. We need your help tracking down the rest of you."

"...the rest of me?"

Stewie looked at him as if he were the dumbest person alive. "You know, your _people_. Your circle of friends, or whatever you want to call them. They're tearing apart the fabric of space and time, and we need to stop it before everything falls apart."

Stewie pulled out a small rectangular device.

"What's that?" Vincent asked.

"Oh, this old thing? Nothing, really. Just a machine that allows inter-dimensional travel."

Brian walked up to the kid. "You're sure you have the right coordinates?"

"Oh, come on, Brian. When have I _ever_ misused this thing?"

"Well, there was that time when—"

"Okay, okay! Fine! That was _one time._ But I've got it this time. And... coordinates are set. Now, Vincent, come stand over here."

Vincent froze. "...How do you know my name?"

"Oh, we know lots of things about you. We know where you work, your credit card number, that you were put in jail despite being innocent..."

"How do you know about that?"

Stewie let out an exasperated sigh. "Always asking questions, aren't we? Come on, just stand over here, and everything will be explained."

"Okay... wait, what was that about my credit card number?" Vincent asked as he walked over to them.

"Oh, uh... never mind that." Stewie pressed a button, and there was a bright flash. Startled, Vincent shut his eyes tight and cowered.

He felt warmth on his back, and could hear birds chirping. He could tell the sun was out, but how could it be? It was night time, and dawn was far away.

Vincent opened his eyes to a bright, sunny day. They were standing on a sidewalk, and all of the houses lining the street were brightly colored. This neighborhood was a _lot_ nicer than his own.

"Wow," he breathed.

"Well, Vincent, welcome to Quahog," Brian said, making a sweeping gesture with one arm. "It isn't much, but it's home."

Vincent stared at the colorful world around him. "Man, I'd give anything to live here. It seems so nice."

"Well hi there, young man," a voice from behind him greeted. Vincent turned around to see an old man, hunched over and clutching a walker, wearing a blue robe and slippers. "Are you new around here?" The man had an unusual whistle in his voice, and for some reason, Vincent felt like he couldn't be trusted.

"Oh, ignore him. That's just Herbert, our perverted neighbor," Stewie said, taking Vincent's hand and pulling him along, past the old man's house. "Consider yourself lucky you aren't a little boy anymore."

Vincent followed Stewie and Brian to a yellow house, and they headed for the back. "Why aren't we going in through the front door?"

"Because Lois might get suspicious if she sees we've brought home a talking grape-man," Brian answered.

"Hey!" Vincent said, slightly hurt.

So they entered the house through the back door. In what Vincent figured was the living room, there was a sizable man and a lady who appeared to be his wife, sitting on the couch. The man was singing along to the theme song of some show called _Charles in Charge_, and the lady was reading a book.

"Are those, uh... are those your parents, Stewie?" Vincent asked, as the three snuck upstairs.

"Ugh, I wish they weren't. I can learn to live with the fat man, but that wretched woman _must die_."

Vincent blinked. "How old are you?"

"One," Stewie replied.

Shocked, Vincent turned towards Brian. "He's a prodigy," Brian responded.

"Well, yeah, I figured that much."

They entered a room that obviously belonged to a young child. It all seemed perfectly normal, a crib, some stuffed animals, a giant machine...

Wait.

"You _built_ that?" Vincent asked, staring in awe at the complex machinery before him.

"Mm-hm," Stewie replied. "I've had to make a few tweaks, however. I had to combine the technology of my time machine with the technology of the multiverse device to create a machine that can travel through time in any dimension."

"That's a _time machine_?"

"Get used to it," Brian said. "He makes stuff like this all the time."

"Do his parents know?"

"They don't, somehow."

Stewie was busy typing something in to his multiverse device. "Now, Vincent, I know you're wondering what this is all about. You already know the gist of it, the universe is in danger, blah, blah, so on and so forth. Now, I _could_ tell you what exactly is going on, but I feel it would be easier if I showed you."

After Stewie's device was calibrated and the time machine was set to one week ago, Stewie took a wire and connected the two devices. "Well, here we go, to test if this will work..."

"This is your first time testing this?" Vincent said, now scared.

"Well, the first time testing them both together. Now come on, step inside."

Vincent and Brian both stepped into the time machine. It was a little crowded with all three of them in there, but Vincent could live with it. "Here goes nothing..." Stewie muttered as he pushed a button. Vincent closed his eyes as another bright flash consumed them.

He opened his eyes. Vincent observed his surroundings, and discovered they were in the parking lot behind McDick's. Only a few cars were parked there; Vincent's, Chica's, Jeremy's, Mike's and Scott's. Yet another day with only employees—well, except Scott, but he acted like an employee.

Stewie and Brian headed for the back entrance, which was always unlocked due to employee laziness, and stepped inside. "Alright," Stewie whispered. "We'll have to be quiet and unseen. We don't want to alter the past. We've done that too many times before, and it only ended in disaster.

They ducked behind a counter as Mike sat around doing nothing, and Chica did the same, except she sat behind the cash register.

Pretty soon night fell, which is usually when McDick's was its busiest, catering mainly to the homeless and the chronically depressed. A man came up to the front counter and began telling Chica what he wanted, but Vincent could tell she wasn't listening.

She glopped some mystery meat onto a bun, put moldy cheese on it and topped it off with a bun that had a bite out of it. The customer wouldn't notice. Then, she gave him the incorrect amount of change. He wouldn't notice that, either.

After talking to Jeremy, Chica went off to her not-so-secret pizza eating place, but Vincent—from the past—caught her.

"What is it with you and pizza? It's weird."

Vincent froze. He remembered saying that to her not too long ago. _Oh no_.

"This is boring," Stewie declared. "Nothing's happening." He set the time forward ten minutes, and now Vincent was sweating nervously. _Please let him go past that thing I did with Scott._

Stewie smirked. "You know, Vincent, you're quite the player." He pointed to the employee's bathroom, where past-Vincent was leading a flustered Scott inside. Obviously the two had been here before.

Vincent buried his now-red face into his hands. "You _know_ about that?"

"More than I would've liked to know," Brian said.

Vincent stared at the two with wide, embarrassed eyes. "You were _watching_?"

"More like listening," Stewie said. "But that's not what we're here for, disappointingly enough."

Stewie led the way to the break room, where Jeremy and Mike were hanging out, chatting.

After the three sat and waited behind a cardboard box for at least five minutes, Jeremy got up and left, saying goodbye to Chica as he went out the door. Mike got up, picked up a nearby broom and started sweeping.

Stewie fast-forwarded again. By now, most of the lights were off, except the ones in the back hallway. Mike was nearly done sweeping, and past-Vincent was still busily scrubbing away at the mess he'd made with ketchup in the kitchen.

Mike went back to the other side of the restaurant to put the broom back in the janitor's closet, when there was a bright flash. For a second, Vincent thought they were going back to Quahog. But the flash was actually coming from the janitor's closet. Someone leaped out of a portal that had appeared, took the broom from Mike's hand, and knocked him out with it. Then, the stranger dragged his unconscious body into the portal, and stepped back out, the broom and Mike gone.

The stranger stepped into the light. Vincent help back a gasp as he recognized the person—it was Mike. An exact copy of him. Except, instead of a McDick's uniform, he wore a security guard uniform, similar to the one the man who murdered the children wore.

Vincent looked at Stewie. "Is he from an alternate universe?" he asked quietly.

"Yes," Stewie whispered back. "From what we've gathered, he and the other purple man both originate from the same universe. According to my calculations, it's a universe where everyone is the opposite of their self."

Vincent nodded slowly, watching as the anti-Mike stepped back into the portal. "So, they're exact copies?"

"Excluding personality, yes. They have the same DNA and genetic code."

"So that's why all of the evidence matched my DNA! It wasn't from me, it was from another version of me!"

"Ah, yes, quite the genius you are," Stewie said sarcastically.

Vincent noticed that the portal was closing. "Aren't we going to follow him?"

Stewie shook his head. "If we did, we'd be going into that dimension one week ago. We want to go to that dimension in the present." Stewie calibrated his device again, and there was another bright light.

When Vincent's vision cleared, everything looked the same, but somehow had an eery feel to it. The three stood up.

Vincent gasped.

The restaurant was abandoned. Trash littered the floor, and dust and cobwebs were everywhere. "Is this the future?" Vincent asked.

"No. This is the anti-dimension we spoke of earlier," Stewie told him. "And it's the present."

"What are we doing here?" Vincent asked. "And how can I possibly help you? I don't know anything about the multiverse."

"I know. But there's a lot of work to be done, Vincent." Stewie sighed. "And I promise you, once we get where we're going, you won't have any more questions."


	7. Chapter 7

An Abomination 2: the Abomination Crossover

Part 6/TBD

"Our first item of business is to get everyone back in their rightful dimension," Stewie was saying as they walked through the familiar yet unfamiliar town.

Vincent nodded, then looked at Brian. "So, why are you tagging along? Why would you _want_ to help out with this?"

Brian shrugged. "Stewie gets lonely without me."

"And here we are," Stewie said, looking up at an apartment complex. "We need to go to apartment number 263."

"Wait... That's _my_ apartment number!"

"Correction, it's _anti_-Vincent's apartment number."

"How do we know he's not home?" Vincent queried.

"Ohoho, don't you worry," Stewie replied smugly. "We made sure he won't be coming home any time soon."

When they reached the apartment, Vincent saw what Stewie meant. There was a complex scanner in front of the door, and there must have been traps set up as well.

"This is a genetic-dimensional code scanner," Stewie explained. "It only allows in you, your friends, and Brian and I, excluding the anti-versions of yourselves."

Vincent blinked. "Huh."

They entered the apartment. "Mike!" Vincent exclaimed. The poor sap was lying on the couch with a wet rag on his head, and he was all bruised up.

"Hey, Vin," Mike said weakly. "Glad you're here. Jeremy's in the other room."

"Jeremy? I thought he was out sick!"

"I was," a hoarse voice said, as Jeremy entered the living room, wrapped in a big green blanket. He sneezed, and then sat down on the couch next to Mike. "And I still am. I was kidnapped during a nap, and those two found me and Mike." He motioned to Brian and Stewie. "Then they took us here."

"Where's Chica?" Mike asked, looking up.

Vincent sighed. "Still in our dimension."

"I don't think so," Stewie said. "We found no genetic-dimensional traces of any of your friends in your dimension. Yours was the only one."

Vincent's brow furrowed. "But... but that's impossible. She was there on the night of the murders..." Then it hit him. Chica's sudden dislike of him, her barely agreeing to even help him in the court case, her managerial promotion... They never even _had_ a manager!

Now it all made sense. Chica didn't hate him. That _wasn't the real Chica!_

"We need to find Chica!" Vincent exclaimed.

Stewie rolled his eyes. "Why do you think we busted you out of prison? We're picking up her signal somewhere in this universe, but we've looked everywhere and we just can't find her. We need your knowledge of her personality to track her down."

"Ah, okay. Let me see..." _If I were Chica, where would I be if I had gotten sucked into another dimension?_

The first thing she'd do was try to figure out where she was. She'd quickly figure out she was in her town, but that something was off. She'd try to find her friends... only to find they were all gone. Without her friends, and with the place where she worked closed down, Chica would probably be...

"Her parent's house!" Vincent gasped. "Of course! Her parents are always out traveling, and she knows where they keep the spare keys. And it's only an eight hour drive away!"

Brian and Stewie exchanged a hesitant glance. "You're _sure_ she's there?" Brian asked.

"Positive. We can take my car. Er.. Anti-me's car."

Stewie sighed. "Alright. Brian, you go along with him. I'll stay here and hold down the fort."

Brian glared at him. "'Hold down the fort'? Oh, that is such bull. You just don't want to go on an eight-hour drive."

Stewie squirmed awkwardly. "Well, it's just... When I sit for so long, my fanny starts to hurt, and I need a changing every couple hours..."

Brian sighed. "Fine. You stay here, I'll go with Vincent."

Vincent grabbed anti-Vin's car keys and started out the door. "Well, Brian, looks like we're going on a road trip."

"Yep," Brian said. "Looks like it."

Vincent drove, Brian in the passenger seat, both of them sitting in silence. "So..." Vincent began awkwardly. "Wanna play 'I Spy'?"

"Sure, why not."

"Uh... I spy something that's blue... and... has clouds."

"The sky," Brian replied.

"Your turn," Vincent said.

"Nah, I'm good. Not really a fan of this game."

"Fair enough." Another long, awkward silence.

"So." Brian began. "Some day, huh?"

"Yeah," Vincent agreed. "Some day."

More silence.

"So, tell me more about anti-me. Does he normally murder children in cold blood?"

"Oh, yeah. He's a real asshole. He kills, he steals, he runs from the law... and, most unbelievable of all, he's _straight_."

Vincent gasped.

"I know, right?" Brian laughed. "Almost unimaginable."

"Want me to turn on the radio?" Vincent asked.

"Go ahead."

Vincent turned it on. _Take On Me_ was playing. To Vincent's surprise, Brian actually started singing along. Vincent joined in.

Maybe this road trip wouldn't be so unbearable after all.


	8. Chapter 8

Damn, almost forgot about this gem. Might as well continue it. Sorry about the wait.

An Abomination 2: The Abomination Crossover, part 7

Vincent opened his eyes. To his shock, he was back at McDick's. Everyone was there, and everyone was their self. Chica was flirting with Jeremy, who, per usual, obliviously took it only as friendly complimenting. A few feet away, Mike was taking the order of an angry old woman who had insisted on bringing her (obviously dying) cat into the restaurant, and was complaining about the awful service. Poor Mike.

And then, walking through the front door, was Scott. Vincent, delighted at his lover's return, made his way over to meet him. But then, the world around him turned dark, and Vincent couldn't move. The sounds all seemed slower, and the whole scene turned very unsettling. Vincent tried to call out to Scott, to his friends, but the figures couldn't hear him. He kept going deeper, backwards, into darkness, as an awful scene played out before him.

A perfect image of him stepped into view. Vincent's breath caught in his chest as he recognized the golden badge and security guard uniform. His anti-self turned to him and grinned. An evil, chilling grin that made Vincent shiver. Then Vincent watched with helpless horror as all of his friends greeted the evil man happily, just as if it were him.

"No! That's not really me! I'm over here!" Vincent wanted to cry, but when he opened his mouth no sound came out. Vincent plunged deeper and deeper into the shadows until the only thing he saw were anti-Vincent's glowing, murderous eyes, successfully tricking all of his friends...

Vincent's eyes snapped open at a bump in the road. He squinted his eyes at the sunlight streaming in through the windows, and looked to his left. There was someone in the driver's seat of what looked like his car... a dog? Vincent blinked, as memories came rushing in. Brian had taken over driving for a while, seeing as Chica's parents lived two states away and Vincent hadn't slept properly in two days.

He exhaled in relief that the horrible experience was all just a dream, but then shuddered with the memory that much worse things are happening—things that are real.

Vincent stretched and yawned, he must've slept at least five hours. Looking out the window, Vincent could see the bright blue, cloudless skies of Arizona. He squinted his eyes and looked out of the windshield. The road ahead seemed endless, and the image quivered in the heat. For miles and miles, only cacti and sand could be seen, maybe the occasional tumbleweed, but the breeze was too little to move them.

Suddenly, the car came sputtering to a halt. "Uh oh... out of gas," Brian said.

"What? How can we be out of gas?"

"Does it look like there's a gas station nearby?" Brian retorted.

Vincent frowned. "Looks like we have to push it, then. There's gotta be a gas station somewhere."

Brian sighed, and got out of the car. The two made their way to the back of the car, beads of sweat already forming as Vincent lifted a hand to shield his eyes from the burning sun.

Brian stopped. "Shit."

"What? What's wrong?"

"We've got a flat. This car isn't going anywhere."

Vincent looked at the back tires, and, sure enough, a hole was ripped in one of them. It must've been from that bump earlier. Now, the tire was completely deflated.

"You have a spare?" Brian asked.

Vincent thought for a moment. "Well, I already used mine back in my dimension, but maybe anti-me still has his," he said hopefully.

The two opened the trunk of anti-Vincent's car and searched for a spare. They found nothing.

Vincent groaned and slumped against the side of the car, then flinched away from the scorching metal. "Looks like we're walking."

And so began their long, agonizingly hot, slow trek to Chica's parents' house. Vincent wiped dripping sweat off of his forehead, which helped very little, because his arm was equally sweaty. Brian panted heavily next to him, tail drooping.

"Would you cut that out?" Vincent snapped after a few minutes. "That's incredibly annoying."

"Hey, I don't have sweat glands, bub. How'd you like it if I told you to stop dripping with perspiration? Now _that's_ disgusting."

Vincent looked down at his sweat-soaked shirt, then back up at the scorching road. "Sorry."

A very, very long time passed. Or maybe it was just a couple minutes. Every second was a living hell, so Vincent couldn't tell the difference. The sun was finally starting to go down, and Vincent willed it to go faster. He sighed, glad for the cool night at last.

But then it got colder.

Shivering, he turned to Brian. "Y-you didn't happen to bring a c-coat, did you..?"

Brian shook his head, also shivering despite being covered in fur. "Sorry."

Vincent walked over to the sandy ground of the desert, rubbing his arms with desperate hope that the friction would warm him. He started digging in the sand.

"Whoa, hey, what are you d-doing?" Brian asked, hugging himself in order to get all the body heat possible.

"Relax, I s-saw this in a movie one time," Vincent said. After a while he had successfully dug two holes. He laid down in one and covered himself in sand, all except his head. Brian reluctantly did the same.

"Hey... This actually works. I'm not cold anymore," Brian commented.

But the relief didn't last.

Vincent felt a sharp prick on his leg, so painful he cried out and scurried out of the hole. A scorpion crawled out of the sand he was in.

Vincent held his leg, unable to see the bug's sting in the dark. Warm tears welled up in one eye but he choked them back.

Brian stood next to him, wiping sand off of his fur after having crawled out of his own hole. "W-well, that idea d-didn't work out."

When the pain finally started to ease, Vincent proposed his back-up plan. "I g-guess we'll just have to c-conserve body heat."

Brian held his hands out defensively in front of him. "Uh, I don't.. swing that way."

Vincent rolled his eyes. "I'm not s-suggesting _that, _idiot. Listen, d-do you wanna die out here?"

Sighing, Brian scooted over to where Vincent sat, and the two awkwardly tried to position themselves in a non-suggestive way. They eventually just lay close together, curled up, facing each other. Neither of them commented on how obviously awkward the situation was.

Brian grunted a goodnight, and closed his eyes, his breath eventually slowing, indicating he was asleep. Vincent, however, had a harder time sleeping. His thoughts drifted to Chica. She could be anywhere right now. But hopefully, wherever she was, she was safe.

Vincent closed his eyes and waited for sleep to come. After what seemed like forever, it finally did.

The ground was scorching hot. Vincent opened his eyes, only to shut them tightly again to block out the harsh sunlight. He sat up. His entire side was coated in sand. Using his hand to shield his eyes from the sun, Vincent looked around for Brian. He spotted the white dog by the side of the road, sitting cross-legged. Vincent approached him.

"What're you doing?" he asked through a yawn.

"Waiting," was his reply.

Vincent rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, still exhausted. "For what?"

"A car."

Vincent sighed. "I doubt any cars are going to come he—"

"Well maybe I don't wanna walk all the way! Maybe I can't make it, maybe I'm afraid of getting lost! Maybe I don't want to die in this godforsaken wasteland!" Brian snapped suddenly, turning on Vincent. His fur was ruffled and his eyes were furious.

Vincent took a step back, eyes widened in shock. "I-I'm sorry."

Tension crackled like lightning between the two. Brian finally broke the silence with a sigh. "I'm sorry, Vincent." He turned his attention back toward the road. "I get like this when I don't have booze. And I just... it's so hot out here. And I'm afraid we'll never get back."

Vincent sat down next to him, patting his back in sympathy. "It's okay. I'm sure we'll get to Chica's parents' house one way or another. Then we'll get everyone back to their rightful dimension, and everything can go back to normal."

Brian rested his head on his hand. "I hope so. I haven't been this homesick in a long time."

"You're telling me..." Vincent said with a sigh. He'd give anything to be back at his apartment right now, no matter how crummy it may be. Just to be back home, knowing all of his friends were safe, that's all he wanted.

So, the two sat. And waited. And waited. And waited, and waited...

The sun was already in the middle of the sky. Vincent was dripping with his own sweat, and Brian was panting like—well, a dog.

The horizon quivered in the blistering heat. Vincent's eyes grew heavy with weariness. He was beginning to lose all hope.

Just then, he looked up. What he saw he could hardly believe. There—on the horizon, well within walking distance, was a trailer. The lights on the inside were on, and Vincent thought he heard tap water. He stood up, legs shaky, and began to walk across the road towards the miraculous trailer.

"Where are you going?" Brian said, looking up.

Vincent pointed to the trailer. Brian narrowed his eyes. "I don't see—Oh my god!" Brian's eyes widened and he set off in the same direction as Vincent.

Vincent walked at first, but his excitement overwhelmed him and he began running. His legs were weak, his stomach growling, his tongue dry, and his eyes droopy, but he didn't care. This was the solution to all of their problems.

They were close... tantalizingly close to the trailer now. He could hear the tap water. He could see the steam from the oven come rising out of the window. So close. They could finally rest, eat, drink. So, so close...

Then the trailer faded. Vincent stopped in his tracks. He stared, dumbfounded, at where the trailer was. "It.. it's gone..?"

Brian stopped beside him. "It was just a mirage."

Vincent stood silently, unmoving. Suddenly he remembered how tired he was. That sprint over here was more than he could take. His legs shook, and sweat poured from his face. Unwillingly, he dropped to his knees. He was exhausted. Too exhausted to feel any emotion. He was more dehydrated than he'd ever been, and his empty stomach threatened to eat his insides.

It got darker, even though it was the middle of the day. His vision faded. He felt numb all over. He hardly even noticed when he fell to the ground with a thump. He couldn't feel it. He could hardly make out the blurry shape of Brian rushing over to him, his fading voice worried. Brian's voice was distorted, faded, quiet. Vincent couldn't make out any words. The world was turning darker and darker.

The last thing he heard was his own shallow breathing. And then it all went black.

He heard quiet voices. As quiet as whispers. He had no idea what they were mumbling. His feeling was ever so slowly returning. It wasn't hot. It wasn't cold. It felt... air conditioned?

He opened his eyes. He could see color; distorted, fuzzy shapes. The voices were a little louder now. He weakly rolled his head over to the side. He blinked and tried to focus. He saw the color white, and he saw a vaguely familiar outline. ..Brian? The voices were louder, and a little sharper. There were two of them, Vincent thought. He strained to hear. One was Brian's. He tried to make out the words.

Only mumbling. But he thought he caught "he's awake". Now he could recognize that the second voice was higher pitched than Brian's. But he still couldn't pinpoint who it belonged to.

Another shape came into view. He knew the bright colors, he knew the quiet voice. He felt a soft, prodding touch. Everything was a little clearer now.

Vincent squinted as his brain worked hard to remember. He blinked again, hoping the images would finally come into focus.

"...Vincent?" he heard. The first word he heard clearly. It wasn't Brian's voice.

"Vincent." He felt the prodding again. This time harder. His head hurt—his feeling had returned. He tried again to remember.

"Vincent!" Then a splash of icey cold. Vincent shot up and gasped, his face dripping with cold water. He rubbed his eyes with a weak hand and turned.

His eyes widened with surprise and delight as he, at last, recognized the figure. "Chica!"

He tried to lean forward and hug her, but the sudden motion sent throbbing jolts of pain through his head. He instinctively shut his eyes. "..Ow..." He put a hand to his head and laid down again.

"Don't push yourself," the soothing voice belonged to his best friend. It was really her this time. But it was difficult to feel relieved when his head felt like it was internally bleeding.

"You're dehydrated, and you have a bit of a concussion. Drink this," she said, handing him a plastic cup of water. Vincent sat up—slowly this time—and drank it. The water was so cool and refreshing; he was starting to feel better already.

Vincent took this time to take in his surroundings. It looked as if they were in the back of a van. "Whose van is this?" Vincent asked.

"Mine," Chica replied. "Well, technically my uncle's, but he lets me borrow it so often it feels like mine."

Vincent turned to Brian. "Did you tell her..?"

"Yeah," Brian said. "I told her all about the interdimensional stuff."

Chica nodded. "He explained everything."

Vincent blinked. "Hey, Chica... how'd you find us, anyway?"

"Well, I was on my way to my parent's house," _Called it!_ Vincent thought to himself, "when I spotted you two on the side of the road. You were, like, completely passed out. Lucky you had Brian to drag you to safety."

Vincent looked at Brian and smiled thankfully. The dog nodded his response in a wordless exchange.

"So... where are we headed now?" Vincent asked.

"We were waiting for you to wake up so that we could drive back to the apartment. You and I are the only ones who know the way back," Brian said.

Vincent nodded in understanding, and in about ten minutes they were on the road.

After a while Vincent froze, suddenly remembering something very important. "What about Scott?"

"Hm?" Chica looked at him. She was sitting next to him in the back of the van, while Brian drove. "Isn't he in the apartment with the others?" She tilted her head confusedly.

"Oh, uh, I know where he is," Brian said from the driver's seat. "Stewie picked up his signal thingy along with yours in your own dimension. He's somewhere in the tropics."

Vincent was relieved at first, but then anger set in. "You two knew he was safe, and didn't bother to tell me? Don't you think that's information I'd like to know?"

Brian shrugged. "Guess we just forgot about that part."

Vincent rolled his eyes. He quickly got over his anger, though. Now that all of his friends were accounted for, all they have to do is round up the anti-versions of themselves and get everyone back where they belong. What could _possibly_ go wrong?


	9. Chapter 9

An Abomination 2: The Abomination Crossover

Part 8

Haha sorry I haven't updated in forever- anyway here goes. Also, minor (sort of just implied) Brewie in this chapter.

Stewie's foot tapped impatiently as he stood outside the door to the apartment, watching the sun set. He checked his watch, despite having checked it less than two minutes prior. It hadn't been too long before worry set in. Brian and Vincent had been gone for nearly two days now. It should've taken them a fourth of that time, a day at most.

He was worried about Vincent, sure; after all, without him their plan wouldn't work, and the entire multiverse would fall apart. But without Brian, his best and truthfully only friend, Stewie's life would fall apart.

Stewie screwed up his face. Did his mind _really_ just come up with something that incredibly sappy? Ew.

A car horn honked, and Stewie's heart gave a hopeful leap. He scanned the parking lot for Vincent's silver car, but his heart sank as he saw an unfamiliar can pull up. However, it leaped again when he saw a familiar ivory head poke out of the passenger side window, the purple shape of Vincent in the back seat, and who he assumed was Chica driving the van.

He ran down the steps of the apartment complex as fast as his short legs would carry him, and almost as soon as Brian got one foot onto the pavement he was nearly knocked over by the force of Stewie's running embrace.

"Woah, Stewie—easy," he said, trying to contain the laughter rising in his chest.

Stewie, clearly not listening, only wrapped his arms tighter around Brian. "Oh, Bri! I've been worried sick! Don't you ever leave me by myself for that long again!" he exclaimed, his relief turning out to be much harder to hide than he'd anticipated.

"Calm down a little, Stewie. You weren't alone. And we haven't been gone for that l—"

"Two days, Brian!" Stewie cut him off, not planning on loosening his grip on Brian any time soon. "You've been gone for two days. That's one and a half days too long." Stewie relished in his warmth, despite it being relatively hot outside. It felt cold without Brian.

Ew, his brain did that sappy thing again.

Brian sighed. "Well, you can stop worrying. I'm here now." Brian allowed the hug to last for a few moments longer, before setting Stewie back down.

Stewie reluctantly let go, but insisted on holding Brian's hand (paw?) all the way to the apartment. Brian decided it best not to argue.

Vincent and Chica fell behind the pair. "You know, if we weren't in a van and I wasn't mostly unconscious, I probably would've had a similar reaction to seeing you," Vincent said.

Chica laughed lightly at this, elbowing Vincent in the side. They reached the apartment and stepped inside. Mike and Jeremy both gleefully exclaimed Chica's name in unison, and Vincent stepped aside to allow hugs and whatnot.

Stewie glanced at them, still subconsciously holding Brian's hand, and blinked. The four of them were here. That's one third of the plan taken care of. ...Well, more like three eighths of the plan taken care of. The next three eighths would be capturing the four anti-versions, and the last two eighths would be getting everyone in their rightful dimension, being two eighths because it is a slightly less difficult portion of the plan. But, wait. There are four of them, so shouldn't it be four tenths each, and then two tenths..? Or... maybe four elevenths each, and then three elevenths...

"Stewie?" Vincent was looking at him expectantly. He had been so caught up in his fractions he hadn't even noticed when they all sat down in a semi-circle, and every pair of eyes was on him.

He blinked. "Ah... what was the question?"

Vincent rolled his eyes. Or, Stewie assumed that's what he was doing, seeing as he had no pupils and it was difficult to tell. "I just asked what the plan is now that Chica's here."

"Oh. Well..." Stewie got up to go get a large piece of paper he had folded up in his little yellow backpack, and while doing so, he released Brian's hand, which he was apparently still holding onto.

He laid the paper across the floor and began to draw a diagram. A line through the middle to represent the barrier between the two universes.

"Here," Stewie began, drawing four circles on one side of the line. "Are you four. And Brian and I," he added, drawing two extra circles. "And here," he drew four circles on the other side of the line, "are your doubles."

Everyone nodded in understanding. Stewie drew arrows from the four circles he just drew, going all across the "universe" and ending each line in a question mark. "However, we don't know exactly where any of them are. Anti-Mike and anti-Chica were most recently seen at the restaurant where you four work, so it's likely they haven't gone far from there. Anti-Vincent and anti-Jeremy, however, could be anywhere."

Mike narrowed his eyes and rubbed his chin, appearing deep in thought. "And we have to find them all? And get them all together?"

Stewie nodded. "And once we do that, we can get everybody back to their rightful dimension."

"And how, exactly," it was Chica who spoke up, "did they even get out of their dimension to begin with?"

Stewie cleared his throat awkwardly. "Well, ah... Brian and I were studying parallel universes, and we came across yours. We needed to keep the portal open to go back and forth and collect notes, and..."

"The anti-versions of you all escaped and dragged you guys here," Brian finished. "Well, not including Vincent."

"Why?" Chica asked, leaning forward. "What could they possibly want in our dimension?"

"Well, my theory is that they overheard us, in this dimension, talking about the multiverse and how it works," Stewie began. "I have a theory that if anyone in a parallel universe is swapped with their double from another parallel universe for too long, the entire multiverse could collapse. That's why I want to get this done by at least tomorrow—this universe is already showing signs of deterioration."

Vincent blinked, looking around the room, scanning for any "deterioration". With shock, he did notice a part of the ceiling was missing—glitching in and out as if they were in some sort of video game. He turned back towards Stewie. "And they _want_ to destroy the multiverse?"

"No," Stewie replied, head shaking. "I don't think they heard me say that much. I believe they heard me give away the location of the portal—an unused closet in, er, _McDick's_, and just wanted to reek havoc in another universe, oblivious to the possible consequences."

"Wait, wait, wait." Jeremy held his hands out. "You're saying these four just want to destroy our world, for fun?"

Stewie nodded. "They are the exact opposites of you, after all."

"Okay, but you have a time machine, right?" Vincent asked, eyes narrowing. "Why can't you just go back and prevent this all from happening?"

"That was our first thought," Stewie retorted and crossed his arms. "We tried, many times, but no matter what we do we couldn't change the outcome. It seems this was inevitable."

A silence.

"Well, what are we waiting for?" Chica said, breaking the silence and standing up with determination in her eyes. "Let's go."

Blinking, Stewie nodded in agreement and stood up as well, followed shortly by Vincent, then Brian, then Jeremy and Mike in unison.

Stewie, insisting on taking the lead, went to the front of the group and led the way down the building's stairs.

"Uh, I think I'll drive," Chica said as they reached her van. She got into the front seat, and after Vincent called shotgun, the rest of them piled into the back.

There was just enough room for the four of them in the back of the van, after having taken out the small bed.

Stewie sat next to Brian, scooting close. As they drove down a deserted road to take the short cut, there was a bump.

Stewie jumped and made a little startled sound, turning around to look out the back window of the van.

"What was _that_?" Jeremy asked, clearly shaken.

It was too big to be a pothole, Stewie decided, and it didn't feel like it was any animal carcass. Scanning for the source of the bump, Stewie gasped as he found that they were driving away from what looked like a tear in the ground that led to the black inkiness of space. It was a rip in the fabric of the universe. Wide-eyed, Stewie surveyed the landscape. In the distance, he saw buildings flicker in and out of existence, and saw dark clouds gather on the horizon, symboling their imminent doom in the most cliché way possible.

Stewie gulped, absently taking and lightly squeezing Brian's hand. It was happening much sooner than he'd expected. They needed to get to the portal quickly—there wasn't much time to lose.


	10. Finale

Here it is. The moment you've all been waiting for.

I apologize for not updating in months. I have long since left both the FNaF and Family Guy fandoms. But I figured, since this is the longest of my stories so far, it deserves a proper ending.

Hold on to your hats, folks, this one's a doozy.

/

The entire universe was falling apart.

The van screeched to a halt in front of the restaurant, and they all hopped out, careful to avoid any holes in the ground.

Everyone was incredibly uneasy. Things were disappearing at will, appearing in other places, and ripping the world apart. Vincent's stomach churned with fear as he opened the door to the restaurant. The lights were off, and it was quiet. Nobody was here.

Nobody dared to make a sound. Everyone was tense as Stewie opened the door that glowed with a greenish light. The portal.

They all took a deep breath, and stepped through the portal together, prepared for whatever they would see on the other side.

Vincent closed his eyes. He just knew he would see flames and smoke, along with the broken remains of their beloved restaurant. People would be screaming, dead bodies would litter the streets. Anti-Vincent—he'd have Scott. He'd have him alive, only to kill him right in front of Vincent. He just knew it.

His heart racing, he dared to open an eye.

The building was dark. He could hear the faint whirring of an air conditioner, but nothing else.

Thank _god._

Wait. Something's wrong.

He was alone. Panicked, he looked around. No sign of Chica, or the others. Oh no.

He ran out of the closet and down the hall, before bumping into something and falling on his back.

Chica looked down at him, startled. "Vincent, keep it down! They might be hiding," she hissed.

The others were behind her. Vincent breathed with relief—they hadn't left him.

The group searched the building. There was no sign of anyone, and they checked every possible hiding place, including the air vents. Nobody.

This was good, but also very, very bad. They may not be here to attack them, but now nobody had any clue where the Antis could be.

"Right. Well..." Stewie began, but he seemed uncertain on what to do. This scared Vincent. "I think the most logical thing to do is to—"

Suddenly, the entire building shook. A large portion of the wall disappeared, revealing a dark parking lot. Vincent looked up—the sky was not nearly as full of stars as it should be. At least the moon was still there.

"We have to act fast," Stewie said, clearly trying to hide his own fear. "We need to split up."

"What?" Mike snapped. "That's a terrible idea! For all we know, there are four people trying to kill us right now! If we split up, we'll be vulnerable."

"Well, can _you_ think of a better plan?" Stewie retorted.

Mike was silent.

"Yeah, I thought so," the prodigy mumbled. "You all know yourselves better than anyone else. Since they're the opposites of you, you can figure out what you _wouldn't _do and where you _wouldn't_ go to track your anti-selves. Think of your worst fears—the things you hate the most. You're going to have to go to the places you would never, ever go."

Vincent thought for a moment. What was his biggest fear?

The color drained from his face and he shivered. His worst fear—it was something so terrible, and so dreadful, he could barely stand to think about it.

He remembered his 8th birthday. He had invited all of his friends to the party. It was going to be the party of a lifetime, it would be held at the newest, most exciting, popular kids' place in town—Freddy Fazbear's Pizzeria.

He had been so thrilled, and so were all of his friends. They were all hopping up and down with excitement as they entered the bright and colorful place. It was packed full with other, equally enthusiastic children. The poor employees seemed to be exhausted, but Vincent and his friends were too hyper to care.

His mother had paid for all of their tickets, and they all ran into the party room. After pizza and cake, it was time for the main attraction—Freddy Fazbear and Friends. Vincent had been dying to see them perform ever since he'd heard of them. Talking, singing animals that were _real?_ It was amazing! The group of kids joined the much larger crowd in the room with the stage. Vincent couldn't see anything at the back of the crowd; standing on his toes did nothing, either. So instead he waded his way through the kids until he was at the front. He was so excited! He'd finally be able to see—

He froze. These were nothing like the cartoonish characters he'd seen on TV. They were big, mechanical, and just _terrifying_. Freddy was "singing", his artificial mouth moving up and down, not even in sync with the music, making a robotic whirring and clicking. His head and eyes moved too, and for a brief, horrifying second, Vincent made eye contact.

His eyes—his dead, plastic, emotionless eyes—they pierced him and made his entire body numb, petrified with terror, and all sounds faded away. He wanted to scream. It felt as if Freddy was going to reach out and grab him, take him away.

Now, even as an adult, Vincent shuddered at the thought of the demonic-looking animatronic. But he had to go there—he knew that's where his anti-self would be. It was either let the universe die, or face his fear of the pizzeria.

The former didn't seem so bad when compared to the latter.

"A-are you sure there isn't another option?" Jeremy stuttered, looking even smaller when he hunched his shoulders and wrung his hands nervously, no doubt imagining his own fears and feeling hesitant.

Stewie shook his head. "It's the only place they'd be. Somewhere they know _you _would hate."

"What will you and Brian do?" Chica asked.

"We'll stay here, guarding the portal," he said with a glance at Brian.

The four glanced at each other nervously, but they knew they had to go. Moonlight shone in through multiple holes in the ceiling, which were only growing. With hesitant goodbyes, they all set out on their own separate journeys.

Fortunately for Vincent, the pizzeria was only a short drive away. Unfortunately, however, the van had already vanished, along with a lamp post in the parking lot.

Walking was dangerous—at any moment the ground could disappear from beneath his feet. Unwilling to take that risk, Vincent stole a car. The owner probably didn't need it as much as he did, anyway.

He drove at full speed to the pizzeria. Clouds were flickering in the sky, large portions of buildings glitching and teleporting all over the place. Vincent figured if he drove fast enough, he could drive right over any holes that opened up in the street. Besides, he wasn't afraid of any cops stopping him, or any traffic. This was the apocalypse.

After only five minutes of driving, he slowed to a halt in front of the old, abandoned building that was the pizzeria. He shivered at the worn-down billboard, featuring cartoon versions of the four characters.

He stepped out of the car. His feet seemed glued to the ground, but he had to move. The front door appeared and disappeared rapidly, sometimes appearing sideways or upside-down. Not wanting to chance getting stuck inside it, he threw a brick into a nearby window and climbed inside.

He fell to the dusty floor, and silver light filtered in through the windows, dust and hairs dancing in the soft glow.

The building was almost pitch-black, and somehow even more silent than outside. He could tell nobody had been here in years, but at the same time, an uneasy feeling creeped up his spine. He knew anti-Vincent would be here, waiting for him.

His unsteady steps echoed throughout the building, which now seemed much larger without crowds of children in it. Deep shadows fell upon the checkered tiles, and the stage was shrouded in darkness. In the dim lighting provided by the moon, he could make out faint traces of each animatronic. He tore his eyes away. He was sweating and shivering at the same time—he needed to search.

This place was only getting more and more terrifying. His breath quickened with every step into the black hallway, the light disappearing behind him. Only darkness lied ahead. Darkness, and silence. He couldn't help wrapping his arms around himself, but it did nothing to soothe his nerves. He was so stressed, his anxiety almost convincing him to leave, almost forgetting the fate of the entire universe was at stake.

His steps were slow, and growing increasingly nervous. Soon he could hear nothing but his own heartbeat and staggered breathing, and it took every ounce of his being not to run off and bail on this plan entirely.

He stopped. A yellow light flickered ahead of him, coming from a room. It was on the other side of a long hallway, and the door was only cracked. He had no idea what was on the other side. He took a few steps forward, his breathing becoming quicker and shallower, and he tried hard to make his steps unheard.

Almost there. Just a few more steps... Keep breathing, keep walking... Remember, this is for your friends... for the whole universe... for every other universe, too. This was for everything, he reminded himself, and he kept telling himself this, over, and over...

He reached the door. He could hear the quiet buzzing of the flickering light. He placed his hand on the cold, dusty handle. He took a deep breath, but he couldn't help but tremble as he did.

Pushing lightly, he opened the door, which squeaked softly. What he saw before him was much worse than any animatronic. It was something he could never unsee, something that would mentally scar him, something that took all of the breath from his lungs and made himself stand as still as if he were frozen in time.

Blood was pooling on the floor, seeping from the stab wounds of one—no, not one, there were more. Many more. The ground was littered with the bodies of children, thrown lazily to the ground, their limbs twisted in all directions, and tears staining their faces, which were frozen in terror forever.

Whoever did this—_what_ever did this—was a monster. A cruel, disgusting, heartless, soulless monster. Only one monster Vincent knew of could ever be capable of such a terrible, gruesome thing.

"Funny, huh? They put _you_ in jail, for something you didn't do." A shadowy figure was standing in the doorway, spinning a knife on his finger, leaning casually against the wall. A dark shadow hid his face, but his eyes seemed to glow. He smiled, and his teeth gleamed in the darkness, a certain wickedness about him that made Vincent want to cower in fear.

"At long last, he meets his _evil twin_. How are you, brother? Are you well?" he asked, his voice eerily cool. He trapped the knife between his fingers, stopping the spinning. He took his hand out of his pocket and stood up straight, taking a step towards Vincent, who took a stiff step back, inhaling sharply.

"Y-you... they... how c-could..." Vincent could hardly form a sentence. His eyes were wide with shock and fear, and he could do nothing but stare at his counterpart in horror. He knew this is what was supposed to happen, but he could not see this encounter ending positively.

Anti-Vincent took another step towards him. Vincent took another step back. "You look like something's troubling you, brother. What ever could it be?" His voice was cold, and taunting. He stepped forward again. Vincent was now pressed up against the wall, and could go no further. His counterpart was standing a few feet in front of him.

"Oh, could it be—no, no. It couldn't. You couldn't _possibly_ be feeling _fear_, could you, brother?" His mocking tone chilled Vincent all the way to the bone. Anti-Vincent stepped forward again. And again. Until he was standing so close, Vincent could feel his hot breath stir his hair. He winced, and turned his head away.

"Why ever, I wonder," he said, the cold tip of his knife brushing against Vincent's cheek, gently turning his head forward to face him. His eyes were emptier than Freddy's. "...would you be afraid of _yourself_?"

Echoing steps made Vincent's heart stop. More figures emerged from the shadows—Mike, Jeremy, and Chica. But the looks on all of their faces were sinister, and he knew these weren't his friends.

He was surrounded on all sides, standing in a pool of blood, in a room in the very back of the building he feared the most. A poster glitched in and out of reality. A piece of the ceiling disappeared.

Vincent swallowed hard. This was an ambush.

Suddenly he was lifted off of the floor, his throat being squeezed tight. He tugged helplessly at the hand choking him, but his strength was quickly fading. He made a few gurgled sounds, his mind was going numb and he was unable to speak. "_Vincent_," his counterpart hissed through a snakelike grin. "I know something that's fun. You like _fun_ things, don't you?"

Tears were leaking from Vincent's eyes, which felt like they would pop out of his skill at any moment. Anti-Vincent's grip tightened, and Vincent started to lose his vision. "_Don't you_?"

Vincent nodded feebly, his tears rolling off of his chin. He fell suddenly, collapsing to his knees on the floor, and he gasped for breath, his entire body heaving. He knew that whatever his counterpart had in store for him wouldn't be anything close to fun, but if he didn't give some sort of an answer, he could have suffocated.

Another sound—a pair of feet shuffling awkwardly into the room, along with a muffled voice. Whoever it was sounded distressed.

"Now, brother, don't you want to look?" a voice above him said. When he didn't respond, a hand forcefully yanked his hair, turning his head up.

He gasped, feeling a whole new kind of fear.

Anti-Mike was tightly gripping the arm of a prisoner, with a sack over their head. Even before the bag was removed only seconds later, Vincent knew who it was.

"Get away from me!" Scott spat at Mike, who was holding the sack. His hands were tied together, and so were his legs, at the knees. Upon seeing Vincent on the floor, Scott froze. "V..Vincent? Wh..." He glanced around at the others, seemingly seeing them for the first time. Vincent guessed they had kidnapped him before he saw who they were.

"Mike.. Chica..? Jer—" He stopped when his gaze fell upon anti-Vincent. "There's two of you..? What's going on—"

Anti-Mike punched him, hard, in the "face", and he fell to the floor, his phone falling out and emitting a dial tone. Seeing his partner lying, in pain, on the cold and bloodstained tile, his hands covering his face defensively, filled Vincent's churning stomach with fire.

"Let him go!" he cried, jumping up to attack anti-Mike, who looked almost shocked. After only half a second his collar was pulled back, and he fell backwards onto the floor. His counterpart's face appeared above him, upside-down. His expression was a million times more terrifying when he was angry.

"If you know what's best, _brother_, you'll _shut up_," he seethed, his white eyes narrowed.

A pair of hands grabbed his head, fingers digging uncomfortably into the side of his face, and they jerked his head upward in an awkward position, causing his neck to cramp. Anti-Mike stepped back to make room for anti-Jeremy, who grinned widely. He looked ecstatic. He grabbed the nearest object—a lamp—and lifted it far above his head, preparing to smash is on Scott's.

"Stop!" Vincent yelled, managing to break free of his counterpart's grip. Rather than his voice being angry, this time, it was a desperate plea. "Don't hurt him!" He scrambled towards Scott, and was stopped only by a rip in the ground, which opened up right between them. Vincent was about to go around it, but anti-Chica stood in the way. She looked relatively bored with the situation, chewing on gum with her arms crossed.

"Are we gonna kill him yet? This room is, like, really cramped."

Vincent looked at Scott in terror as his boyfriend was being dragged upward by anti-Mike.

Anti-Vincent stepped forward, and snapped his fingers at anti-Jeremy, who immediately rushed to snatch Vincent from behind and trap him. With his free hand, anti-Jeremy grabbed Vincent's eyelids and forced them open. His eyes stung, he couldn't move, and now he had no choice but to watch as his counterpart pulled out a knife as Mike tightened his grip on a helpless Scott.

"No! _Please_!" Vincent screamed, tears once again starting to stream down his cheeks. He knew he was powerless, and his whole body shook with the sobs that he knew would soon overtake him. "Please, _please!_ Anyone but him! Take me instead! Kill _me!_" Vincent's voice cracked, and his throat was becoming sore. Hot tears spilled from his eyes and felt like they were burning his cold face, and they dripped onto the tile, mixing with the drying blood.

Anti-Vincent clenched his fists tightly, and glared down at Vincent with such powerful loathing that it almost scorched his skin. He kneeled down right in front of him, his eyes alight with fury and his teeth gritted. "What the _hell_ did I tell you, Vincent?" Each word was forced out of his teeth, pure hatred in each one.

He once again grabbed Vincent's head—this time drawing blood with the force—and tugged his head violently into the hole in front of him.

All of a sudden, everything was completely silent. The sound of the flickering light, the breathing of the people in the room, the whimpers of Scott, the dripping of his own tears on the floor, they were all gone.

All he saw was black nothingness, and all he felt was the icy cold. His hair floated in every direction, and he tried to inhale, but he couldn't breathe.

He could feel frost growing on his chin and nose. His lungs were screaming for air. His senses were numbing.

He felt something—something below his shoulders. On the other side of the hole, in reality, something was happening. He didn't know what. He felt something kick his side, and the vibration of something falling. He felt something briefly brush against him, then hit him again.

Squirming, he tried desperately to turn, to look up. But everything was fading, and he was growing weak. His limbs were numbing. He wasn't sure, but he thought the hand on his head was gone. Before passing out, he thought he felt something on his shoulder. Then he closed his eyes, and ice covered his eyelids.

/

The first thing he became aware of was the gentle prodding on his side. The second thing was the discomfort of something hard on his other side. After a minute, he opened his eyes.

Everything was sideways. That was the third thing he became aware of. The fourth thing was the soft sound, which, as he regained his senses, escalated to loud, desperate yelling.

"Vincent, _please_! Wake up! We have to get out of here!" The voice sounded faint, but it grew increasingly louder. Soon he realized the gentle prodding was actually hard jabbing, and with half-lidded eyes, Vincent looked up at Scott.

He managed a weak smile. "Scott..." he murmured, his voice no louder than a whisper. Then, instead of cold, hard tile, Vincent felt nothing but two arms underneath him. One under his knees, the other grasping his shoulders. His head lolled to one side. He was unable to hold it up on his own.

Unsure of what was happening, all Vincent knew was that one moment he was laying down, and the next he was bouncing slightly, in the arms of Scott. He couldn't tell if it was windy, or if they were moving fast, or both. He blinked slowly. His head was still swimming.

He felt some sort of vibration and a distant rumbling, and he looked up at a mostly black sky. Then his eyes closed again.

/

"God damn it, it happened _again_?" a muffled voice said.

"He should be okay. We just have to wait," another replied, becoming sharper and clearer.

"We don't have time to wait!" exclaimed a third voice. Vincent was now alert enough to recognize it as Jeremy's.

"I think he's waking up!" said a fourth voice. It was Scott. He sounded relieved.

Vincent opened his eyes to see his partner standing above him. He could feel him take hold of his hand. Vincent was weak, but he could place his other hand on top of Scott's. He looked at him, his vision finally able to focus. "Hey."

Scott suddenly trapped him in a tight embrace, which made Vincent feel good, but also made him a little nauseous. He couldn't remember the last time he ate something, and right now Scott squeezing him wasn't helpful.

"Let go of him," Chica said gently, putting a hand on Scott's shoulder.

"Uh, guys?" the familiar voice of Jeremy said. "We should probably get going."

Looking around, Vincent noticed that what he assumed was a hospital was deteriorating. The very bed he was on was starting to glitch, so he quickly stood up—so quickly, in fact, that he felt woozy and fell into Scott's arms.

The ground was shaking again, but Vincent was too weak to run. Hell, he could barely stand up on his own.

Mike came running down the hall, pushing a gurney. "Get him on here, quick!" he said, and no one argued. Vincent was quickly picked up by Chica and placed on the gurney, and before he knew it he was being wheeled down a hallway.

"I could have _walked_ to the gurney," Vincent murmured.

"How's not the time to defend your independence, Vincent! This whole building is going to disappear soon, and we _aren't_ on the first floor."

Vincent gulped as he imagined plummeting to his death as the building vanishes.

They came to a stairwell. "Alright, Vinny, hold on," Chica said.

"Wait, you can't—" but Mike had already pushed the gurney down. His friends were clinging to the side of it, riding it down the stairs. Since Vincent was already nauseous, he was _not _enjoying this.

Vincent was dizzy by the time they reached the bottom, but he was immediately being pushed again. He felt like he might throw up at any moment.

They all piled into a (most likely stolen) van, and drove away from the hospital.

"What timing," Jeremy said, looking out the back window. The hospital was gone.

/

Half of McDick's was already gone by the time they got there.

Stewie came running out the door. "Thank god you're back! ...Where are they?"

"Who..? Oh." Chica looked away awkwardly. "Well, uh... we couldn't find them. We found Vincent and Scott, though."

Stewie pinched the bridge of his nose, frustrated. "You were supposed to do _one_ thing—"

"I know where they are," Vincent said. "They're at Freddy Fazbear's Pizzeria. That's where I saw them last."

"All of them?" Stewie asked. "Well, let's go!"

Before Vincent knew what was happening, they were all back in the van and on their way to the pizzeria.

"Scott—you didn't _kill _them, did you?" Vincent asked. His memories of what had happened after he passed out in that room were unclear.

"No, I only knocked them out. They're probably awake by now, but I don't know where they'd be... Hopefully still in the building, looking for us." Scott turned his head to him. "Who are they?" he asked.

"Long story," Stewie replied. "One we don't have time for."

"They're evil duplicates of us from another dimension," Chica said.

Scott looked down. "Huh."

When they neared the pizzeria, Vincent could sense something was off. And when they got there...

The building was gone.

"Shit," Stewie said.

Suddenly, Jeremy gasped. "The portal!"

"What about it?" Stewie asked.

"They've gone back to the portal—they're going to try and destroy it, I just know they will!"

"They can't destroy the portal, that's ridiculous." Stewie stopped for a moment, thinking. "..Can they?"

"Don't ask me," Brian said.

"We have to go back," Chica said. They turned the van around.

Vincent was glad to see that the building was still half there, and Chica wheeled him inside. They reached the closet with the portal, and breathed a sigh of relief when they saw it was still there.

But that relief didn't last long.

"Oh, my, how interesting." The six turned around. Anti-Vincent was standing there, the others beside him. "I've never seen a pair like _you_ two before," he said to Brian and Stewie. Brian bared his teeth and growled, and Stewie pulled out his laser gun.

"Wait! Don't they have to be alive for it to work?" Chica asked.

"Oh, yeah," Stewie said, putting down the gun.

Without warning, Mike punched his anti-self in the face.

"Mike, what the hell?" Jeremy said. "There's supposed to be some sort of evil monologue before the fight starts!"

"The author is super tired from writing this. Have you seen how long this chapter is?"

Moonlight illuminated them. The fourth wall wasn't the only one that had been broken.

Hey, this is a parody fic. I do what I want.

Soon, everyone was fighting their counterpart—except for Vincent. Scott had insisted he stay in the gurney, being too weak to even stand. But seeing his partner getting his ass handed to him by a psychopathic version of himself gave him the strength to stand.

He was dizzy at first, and his nausea returned, but he stumbled over to the fight, where his boyfriend was being thrown to the ground.

With all of his might, Vincent mustered the strength to hit his counterpart directly in the throat.

It was no more than a gentle touch.

Anti-Vincent burst out laughing. "Oh my _god,_ this is hilarious. Look how weak and _vulnerable_ you are!" He pulled out his knife, which shone in the moonlight. "I could kill you right now, and you wouldn't be able to do anything."

Vincent stumbled backwards, preparing himself to block the knife with his hand, when Scott came crashing onto anti-Vincent, making him fall onto his back. He threw punch after punch, knocking out a few teeth in the process, and anti-Vincent's purple face soon became black, blue, and scarlet. Vincent stared, breathless.

Anti-Chica got momentarily distracted laughing at anti-Vincent, as any best friend would do, and in that moment Chica threw her into the portal. "One down!" she cried.

Feeling a spark of hope, Vincent watched as Mike grabbed his counterpart's arm and twisted it behind him until he screamed in pain. Then, he threw him in the portal. "Two!"

Jeremy was cowering as his insane counterpart was about to attack him with a lead pipe, when Chica grabbed his arms and Mike kicked him in the nuts.

He made something like a squeaking sound and fell to the ground, and Chica and Mike both picked him up and threw him into his own dimension, head first. They high-fived, and Jeremy said "three!"

That left anti-Vincent, who was now overpowering Scott. Chica attacked him from behind, but he only spun around and spat blood in her face. He was furious.

Mike tried to knock his legs out from underneath him with a kick, but his foot was only caught by anti-Vincent's skilled hand and he was thrown against the wall with a loud thump.

Jeremy was too terrified to fight him, and Scott was only knocked back down the moment he stood up.

Vincent stood there, supporting himself by leaning on one of the remaining walls. More voids opened up in the ground. Pieces of the floor were floating now. He looked up—all of the stars were gone, the sky was black.

All of his friends were trying to fight anti-Vincent, but were being beaten back. They looked like they were getting exhausted, their blows becoming weaker. Vincent's heart raced, and his nausea grew worse.

His eyes met his counterpart's.

An evil grin spread on anti-Vincent's face. "All of your friends are being destroyed, and you're just _watching_?"

Vincent narrowed his eyes, taking a few wobbly steps towards his duplicate.

"How adorable. You think you can even stand a chance fighting me? Even your friends, _all_ of them put together, can't beat me. And I'm not even _tired_."

But Vincent knew he was lying. There were bags under his eyes, and his fists trembled. Soon, he would break. Vincent just knew it.

"Go ahead, hit me. His me with everything you have. I bet I won't even feel it."

The blood dripping from anti-Vincent's chin made Vincent's already nauseous stomach churn even more. Then, he nearly slipped—his heart rate increased.

"This will be _hilarious_." Anti-Vincent folded his arms, plastering on a smug look.

Vincent felt a gurgling in his stomach. He stopped in front of his counterpart, and only stared at him.

Anti-Vincent blinked. "What? Aren't you going to—"

At last, Vincent's weak stomach gave up. He threw up all over his double's face, and it splattered onto his shirt, too.

Shocked and disgusting, his counterpart could only stand there in disbelief.

Chica laughed hysterically, and Mike threw him to the floor. He scrambled to a sitting position and looked up at the three. "Y-you're _disgusting!_ Why would y—"

Mike kicked him in the nose, and he fell flat on his back. Jeremy emerged from the shadows, and helped Vincent as he grabbed one of anti-Vincent's arms and dragged him to the portal, kicking and struggling but to no avail.

"You're making a huge mistake!" he spat.

Vincent raised an eyebrow. "How?"

He couldn't answer. "I don't know. That's just something I'm supposed to say, right?"

Vincent rolled his eyes, and with his remaining strength he threw him into the portal, which disappeared immediately after.

Suddenly, the walls reappeared, and the rips in the floor fixed themselves. Outside, everything was turning back to normal, the first signs of dawn were showing on the horizon.

The four left the building, which was now entirely back to normal, followed by Scott, Brian, and Stewie.

Chica, in a burst of excitement, ran to Jeremy and kissed him. He looked surprised at first, but eventually he kissed back. Stewie leapt into Brian's arms happily, and Vincent wrapped his arms around Scott in a passionate embrace.

Everything was okay, and their lives could finally go back to normal. "Hey, Scott?" Vincent mumbled through the hug.

"Hm?"

"You remember when you were repeatedly punching my anti self in the face?"

"..Um, yeah, it happened less than two minutes ago."

Vincent smiled. "That was really hot."

Scott laughed, and pulled away from the hug. He grabbed Vincent's hand and squeezed it. "Let's get back to your apartment. You need rest."

"And after that display, I need something else, too," Vincent said suggestively.

"Oh my _god_, Vincent," Scott laughed. "Maybe when you're feeling better."

Vincent groaned. "Fine."

"Hey, uh, figured... we'd say bye," Brian said, walking up to them with Stewie not far behind.

Vincent smiled. "Bye, guys. And... thanks."

"No problem," Stewie said. "It was nice to meet you, Vince."

"You too. I'll miss having a talking dog and a genius baby around."

"And I'll miss having a purple man around who works at a place called McDick's."

"Alright, Stewie, let's go," Brian said. "I'm exhausted."

"Okay, okay, hold on." Stewie grabbed a device and created a portal, and after saying their last goodbyes, they left to their own dimension.

Vincent sighed. After taking in the sunrise, he walked hand-in-hand with Scott to his apartment complex. On such a nice morning, walking didn't seem too bad.

/

At long last, it is completed!

This is the dumbest thing I've ever made and I can't believe I spent so much time on it.

Anyway, hope you enjoyed this nonsensical story.


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